Very, very good. RE — most talented ex-trucker in the known universe. Creative and funny. That takes talent.

However, this is quite a departure from your 10 thousand word high-browed stuff.

Found this on the net. I swear YOU wrote this.

Happy Festivus, RE!

==================================

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the
annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence,
kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this
potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Mus
musculus. Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the
wood burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure
regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among
whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title of St. Nicholas.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective
accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual
hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through
their cerebrums. My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head
coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness
when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended
such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity
from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source
thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing
this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance
without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline
precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian
itself – thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to
behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight
diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule,
aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly
apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller. With his
ungulate motive power travelling at what may possibly have been more
vertiginous velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated
loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and
addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen – “Now
Dasher, now Dancer…” et al. – guiding them to the uppermost exterior
level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the
concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a
180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved – with utmost
celerity and via a downward leap – entry by way of the smoke passage. He
was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony residue from
oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls
thereof. His resemblance to a street vendor I attributed largely to the
plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious
cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary
dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability. The
capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged with
blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the
coloration of Albion’s floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium,
or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- and supralabials resembled nothing so
much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment
appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose grey
fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive
of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly. His visage was wider than it was
high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region
undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical
container. He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund,
multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly
frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being. By rapidly
lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly to
one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the
aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the aforementioned
articles of merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously
dorsally transported cloth receptacle. Upon completion of this task,
he executed an abrupt about-face, placed a single manual digit in
lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium
forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his
egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage. He then
propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a
musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the
antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a
movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions
of a common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible
immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of
visibility: “Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to
that self same assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously
beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and
dawn.”

RE
I don’t want to take away from your hilarious post… But it inspired me….

On the first day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

On the second day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Two .44s,
And Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

On the third day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Three Frenchy flames,
Two .44s,
And Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Four flipping birds,
Three Frenchy flames,
Two .44s,
And Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Five gold maple leaves,
Four flipping birds,
Three Frenchy flames,
Two .44s,
And Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Six silver eagles,
Five gold maple leaves,
Four flipping birds,
Three Frenchy flames,
Two .44s,
And Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Seven goofy pictures,
Six silver eagles,
Five gold maple leaves,
Four flipping birds,
Three Frenchy flames,
Two .44s,
And Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Eight markets crashing,
Seven goofy pictures,
Six silver eagles,
Five gold maple leaves,
Four flipping birds,
Three Frenchy flames,
Two .44s,
And Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Nine jihadists dying ,
Eight markets crashing,
Seven goofy pictures,
Six silver eagles,
Five gold maple leaves,
Four flipping birds,
Three Frenchy flames,
Two .44s,
And Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Ten truthers crying,
Nine jihadists dying,
Eight markets crashing,
Seven goofy pictures,
Six silver eagles,
Five gold maple leaves,
Four flipping birds,
Three Frenchy flames,
Two .44s,
And Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
The Burning Platform sent to me
Eleven banksters frying,
Ten truthers crying,
Nine jihadists dying,
Eight markets crashing,
Seven goofy pictures,
Six silver eagles,
Five gold maple leaves,
Four flipping birds,
Three Frenchy flames,
Two .44s,
And Smokey’s nuts to hang on my tree.

Stuck, I wrote that Parody while I was in college while imbibing pscilocybin laced eggnog, its been floating around the web ever since. I dropped it on the local network we had at Columbia at the time, and it obviously persisted on the server and got duped up after the arpanet morphed into the internet.